


A Flirt and Flutter

by capncosmo



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Gen, Texas, Texas War for Independence, US History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-19
Updated: 2009-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncosmo/pseuds/capncosmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only response to managing civilians is drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Flirt and Flutter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicocoer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nicocoer).



> Look Ma, my Texas is showing~ All you really need to know is that Sam Houston is a NUMBER ONE HERO OF NEW SALVATION, although [here is the Wiki article on the period](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Runaway_Scrape), for reference. Not that you *really* need it, because we all know I only write fake history. For nicocoer @ LJ who requested "Involving the discovery of or discussion of a secret stash of some sort.." I'm sorry, I realize I'm stretching "US History" here, given that this was at the beginning of Texas' decade of countryhood but... go with it? :D?

Sam Houston rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, exhausted from staring down at the maps of the area around Gonzales searching for _something_ that could hide them. He couldn't tell if it was the flickering lamps or the disgraceful lack of alcohol that was making logistics seem so horrible, but either way he wished he was back in a cushy government job, not leading a bunch of yahoos in a righteous but poorly-planned revolution.

"Sir," James, one of his aides, said from the entrance of the tent, "the scouts report they're ready to move out."

"Our strategy is to use the river to mask our tracks. Tell them to look for a good place somewhere downstream where we can camp tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir." James left, and Houston thought, for a moment, what a good kid James was. How James was more competent than half the men here. He considered promoting James to colonel that very evening, but abandoned the though for the ruckus it would cause. And, if he was completely honest, also because he didn't know where he'd find another aide he wouldn't want to fire within the first week. He had been in particularly bad temper since the whiskey had run dry, striking fear into half the kids in camp. The others were afeared of him due to respecting his reputation, which sometimes made things awkward, if blessedly quiet.

Returning to the task at hand, he smoothed the lines of the map, tracing the river with his fingers. There was nothing. He knew there was nothing. They'd just have to run and keep running and hope they were faster than the Mexican Army. But there was one advantage to not hiding.

"James?" he called, sticking his head out the flaps of his tent.

"Sir."

"We're moving out in the morning. Tell folks to pack well, because we're burning the town down when we leave."

******

Razing Gonzales was not as painful as he'd expected. It was just as well, seeing as he didn't want to make people see sense, but it seemed "no quarter" were two words at the forefront of the civilian's minds. They set out grim faced as his men up towards the river, towards the place the scouts found the night before. Their meeting place was to be a big old tree, and since there weren't many trees around those parts, you couldn't miss it.

It was nice, could almost make you forget you were running for your life, they way they rode over the countryside. The young boys were running all around, laughing and playing, and talking with his men, their eyes going wide with hero worship. The older ones were trying to convince the soldiers to let them join up. Houston smiled at the babe watching him over his mother's shoulder, and he had the sentimental thought that it would be worth all this for the smile of that baby.

Of course, by the time they were ready to stop for the day, it was a much different story. Babies were crying, people were sniping at each other from tension run high, and the distance was wearing on the children, in turn wearing on the ones that carried them. This was why he proclaimed his headquarters to be alee of the tree, so people could only get at him from two sides instead of four.

They could still get at him, though.

"Sir? The Mayor's here to see you."

Houston hated the Mayor of the former Gonzales. He caused nothing but trouble, that man. "Unless he's here for a friendly game of poker, I don't want to see him," he said without looking up from the dispatches he was writing.

"I'm afraid I forgot my cards," the Mayor said, "I think the fire got them."

James looked apologetic when Houston looked up, and he knew he couldn't blame the kid. Still, didn't mean he had to stop glaring. "Mayor," he said coldly.

"Sam. Good old Sam. You wouldn't mind letting me in on your plan, would you? I need to be able to tell folks something when they ask."

"And you're mighty curious yourself."

The Mayor laughed. "I just might be. Well?"

Houston put on his sourest face (not a stretch from his current expression). "Run."

"You don't have a plan?"

"I have a plan," Houston said, now condescending. "We're going to run for our lives. And maybe that's not glorious enough for you, Mayor, but it's all we _can_ do until we can starve out Santa Anna."

The Mayor floundered.

"You wanted something to tell folks? Well now you have it. Good night."

Houston knew the Mayor wouldn't be spreading the truth around camp, and he couldn't decide if he thought that was for the best or not. He could really use a _drink_. Unable to sit still any longer, he stood so violently it sent his chair off into the corner of the tent.

Which made a decidedly hollow thump.

Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be a handle and a trap door and--

"Shoot," he said aloud, as it letting out a breath. It was a cellar full of _liquor_. "James!" he barked, grabbing a bottle.

"Sir?"

Houston smiled, thinly but a smile. "Close the flap and pull up a chair. I'm buying you a drink."

**Author's Note:**

> And for all you wondering why this wasn't about Alexander Hamilton as originally promised, I couldn't get away from "secret slash," and his slash was _so_ not a secret. ~~Except the slash between him and Thomas Jefferson. "I keep his bust around b/c he was my greatest enemy." Mmhmm. Believe that one like a fox.~~


End file.
